


leave your sorrow to the water (and your laughter to the night)

by average_lasagna



Series: Merlin fics [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Almost Drowning, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Could Be Canon, Drowning, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Modern Era, Past Character Death, also arthur gwen morgana and uther are mentioned, and merthur is heavily implied, but freya will and merlin are basically the only characters, don't ask me to tag things properly, i guess??, no one actually dies but freya did technically die in the show, not really but, okay. kilgharrah is a car in this, they named their van after him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23187184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/average_lasagna/pseuds/average_lasagna
Summary: The past found ways to bleed through.~After nearly drowning in a city pool, Freya finds herself wondering about her place in her suddenly strange modern world.
Relationships: Freya & Will (Merlin), Freya/Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Will (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598401
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	leave your sorrow to the water (and your laughter to the night)

**Author's Note:**

> "Whatever I was—girl, beast, or bastard—I waded into the water. I wanted to peel back my skin and leave it floating behind me. I got down on my knees and prayed for drowning. I went under the lake’s surface."  
> — Brittany Hailer, Animal You’ll Surely Become

She jumped.

She gasped for air like a drowning cat, clawing at her throat with a desperation she wished she didn't have. Her chest and the lungs inside ached with every thrash, every attempt to stay under. She could see the surface, see the ceiling. The dull fluorescent lights of the pool shone through the water like tired searchlights. Her eyes burned as she looked at them.

A hand reached for her and she darted away, but she had barely any strength left. It hurt so, so much to stay under. She wanted to scream. She wanted to scream louder than anyone had ever heard, but instead, she choked, coughing up chlorine as a man pressed his hands to her chest, over and over. One, two, three. He forced his breath past her lips. One, two, three.

She breathed.

One, two, three.

Merlin was furious. He paced the pool hall's red carpet, waving his arms frantically as he spoke. He asked her why she did it, nearly burning the question into her mind. Why, why, why. He was insistent. He was worried. It felt nice, being worried about. 

She pulled the thin, scratchy towel further around her. Merlin's expression softened as he crouched in front of her. He looked at her like she was a scared animal. Like he expected her to run any time he moved. "I've called Will," he said, slowly, "he's coming to pick us up."

"Is he bringing the Dragon?" Her voice was timid. Weak. Horrible.

"Yeah, he is."

He hugged her. Again. And again.

It was nice.

They waited outside for the Dragon, listened for its telltale creaking, watched the traffic for its constantly-flickering lights. Its yellow paint was old and peeling, and only one window, the back left window, was tinted. Its sides were covered completely in graffiti, mostly words that Will had never been able to read or pronounce. One summer, he'd gotten drunk and carved a name into the doors, KILGHARRAH. He said it was a translation of the graffiti. Merlin said it was nonsense. 

Will saw her as soon as he opened his door. His hands were warm when he wrapped himself around her, pressed his head against hers. "God, Frey. You're shaking."

She said nothing. He held her, like that, for what felt like an eternity. She wanted to cry against his neck, wanted to sob and scream. She missed the water, how it surrounded her, how it had felt like a part of her.

She pushed herself further into his arms.

She didn't sit in the front, but neither did Merlin. Will always drove; the radio always played songs she didn't know. Merlin held her hand. This part was new.

As soon as they entered Will's apartment, Merlin started to pace again. Why, why, why. "It doesn't make sense. You know how to swim." Why, why, why.

"God, Frey," Will said, again. It had been a minute, an hour, a week since he said it last. "We almost lost you. We could have lost you."

She should have nodded. She should have spoken. She should have done something, anything at all. She did nothing.

"You could have drowned, Freya."

She always liked Merlin's voice. She liked the way it sounded, the way it flowed through her ears and the way his lips moved. She liked the words it said. She didn't like these.

If she had stayed under any longer, they wouldn't have been able to save her, she thought the lifeguard had said, but she hadn't fully been listening. She'd been staring at the water, thinking of foamy depths, of the rage of the sea.

Of a lake in a forest, surrounded by flowers. Of a crying boy. Of a creature slain.

She thought of them then, too.

Will sighed. "You should try to sleep," he said.

She walked to his room, barely aware of her feet pressing into the floor. She tried to be gentle as she lay on his bed. She felt fragile and delicate like she was a china doll, or a wilting rose, or some precious heirloom.

Or a girl nearly drowned in a city pool

Why, why, why.

She fell asleep to Will and Merlin's quiet murmuring. Hushed. Worried. Obviously about her.

In her dreams, she danced, leapt gracefully across waves, laughed as she dove into them. A creature danced with her. Its fur was black and matted; its eyes were weary; its leg was wounded. It smiled at her, though, and she smiled back. They were an old story, a book turning its pages carefully. They were damaged. They were learning. 

When she woke, everything was loud.

She picked herself up from the bed, hating the way her arms felt, the way her dress was torn, the way she couldn't do anything without being constantly aware of it all. Will's mirror stared at her, at her gaunt form, her pale face. At her stiff, chlorine-covered hair and the ugly birthmark on her leg. The girl in the mirror barely looked like her at all. She was supposed to be legendary, wasn't she? All-powerful. The mighty Lady of the--something. She couldn't remember that part of the dream. The part where she had been strong and people had loved her in the same way that a boy had loved a creature. A foolish boy, a lying boy. He had wanted to weave flowers into the creature's hair.

God, it was loud. Will and Merlin's voices filtered into the room through a crack in the doorway. They were laughing, singing off-key, teasing each other. She smiled.

She shuffled to the door and leaned her head against it. It would be so easy to open it, to become a part of that world. The world where people laughed with her, and Will made pancakes that weren't burnt, and the water didn't pull her in and refuse to let her go.

But Will always burned his pancakes.

She opened the door as fast as she could; if she didn't, it creaked, and if it creaked, they would notice her. Merlin, of course, noticed her anyway. His eyes were sharper than he liked anyone to believe.

In the darkest part of her mind, she wished that he hated her. That, when he turned to look at her, he was startled, because he had forgotten about her. She wished that he'd been so happy in his moment with Will and that she ruined it like she ruined everything. She wanted him to be upset that she slept on Will's bed and left them to sleep on the pullout couch, that she'd made him take her to the pool only to have to leave.

Instead, he stared at her like he was happy to see her. Like he missed her. Like he didn't mind her company, or rather like he enjoyed it. Like he would take her anywhere she wanted to go as long as it made her smile.

She hated it. It would be easier if he hated her. If foolish lying boys hated foolish lying creatures, everything would be easier. But nothing was ever allowed to be easy.

She made a joke about the music and Will threw his head back and laughed as if he'd never heard a joke before, and something in her chest felt warm. He turned it up and danced along to it, grabbed her hand and spun her around until she was too dizzy to protest his shitty food. It tasted like plastic and the lyrics that Merlin pretended he didn't just look up. Like dust on the floor and spiders in Will's cupboard, like a plate with a chip in it. Like her empty shampoo bottles lining Will's shelf, like his ratty sofa that desperately needed to be washed. Like home.

Will's shower sprayed cold water, then hot, then a mix between the two that she wouldn't quite call warm. She stood in the stream, idly washing yesterday off of her.

She hadn't meant to jump, but it had felt like the water was calling out to her, begging her to stay, to join it. To become a part of it, once more.

She thought of the lake from her dream again, and of the creature, dying on the ground next to it. It wasn't shaped like a beast. It looked like a girl, like her. It looked lost. Its dress was somebody else's. It was covered in blood; in a minute, it would be dead.

The boy wouldn't stop crying. He was holding the creature. He loved it. He was foolish, like that.

Someone pounded on the door. "Freya? Everything okay in there?"

She turned off the water and didn't answer.

Will had work. She blinked at him, slowly, when he told her this. She was wearing one of his shirts. Merlin left while she showered. They'd both stayed the night.

"You can stay here if you want," he told her. Her apartment wasn't cluttered like his was. Her apartment wasn't dirty. Her apartment didn't have him, though.

He dropped her off at some cafe. It was 1.2 miles from the pool, 2.6 from the nearest lake. The Dragon sputtered pathetically as he drove away, leaving her behind. She could walk if she needed to. 

She stayed for an hour. She drank some sort of tea, something that smelled like nothing she'd ever had before. Will would wrinkle his nose at it. He preferred coffee, strong and bitter. Merlin always chose the most obnoxiously sugary thing on the menu.

He called her around noon. It was their routine. Will in the front seat, the radio blasting bad songs, and Merlin's call at noon. She was sitting on a park bench, 1.3 miles away from the pool, 2.5 from the nearest lake.

He rambled about work, for the most part. Gwen was out sick, so he had to deal with part of her load along with his own. Morgana and Uther got into an argument and the entire office heard. Uther wasn't pleased with her magazine's "image." Arthur had chosen not to get involved, so Morgana was mad at him too. And, on top of everything, both copy machines were broken, which meant all hell was breaking loose, and Arthur blamed Gwaine because he wasn't technically supposed to be there.

Freya didn't like Arthur very much. The few times they've met, he was awkward and rude to Merlin, even though Merlin was the only reason he had any friends. He got everything from his father, including his job. He barely knew how to act like a real person.

She always thought he'd be good with a sword, though. A golden one, with letters he can't read. Letters like the graffiti on the Dragon.

She'd hold that sword for him. The boy would throw it to her and she'd catch it, always ready for him. He still loved her. He loved Arthur, too. He was a foolish boy.

Arthur said something she couldn't hear. The phone jostled as Merlin laughed and replied with half a sentence before he was laughing again. She loved his laugh.

She told him about the cafe, about the pretty barista and the color of the sky. She knew he wasn't really listening. He was thinking of Arthur, of his hair, his smile, his ineloquent way with words.

She thought of the lake.

Her feet were cut, broken, bleeding. Her breathing was ragged and shallow. She was starving. Her dress was stolen. She smiled, though.

The boy held her. He was crying, running his hands through her hair, telling her it will be alright. Telling her that he can save her. He was lying. He was always lying.

Merlin hung up. She didn't mind.

There was a lake 2.5 miles away from the park bench. She didn't think it was her lake, though. Her lake was in a forest surrounded by mountains, not by odd people and towering buildings.

She shook her hand and started to walk anyway.

Halig would have hated this. He would have hated the way she walked with her head held high. He would have hated her coat, something hideous and black and furry, something that she had bought with her own money. He would have hated the way she didn't trip or stumble as she moved. He would have hated this version of her. He hated the last one.

On most days, she hated that version too.

She walked on.

She passed through a market. She'd never been to this part of the city before. She'd never seen these people, with their strange faces, their strange outfits. Their tunics colored red and gold. Their silver chain mail and helmets. Their swords.

She shook her head again. She had been doing that a lot, lately. She needed to clear it, to focus it.

The people around her were just that. People. People wearing suits and skirts and jeans. People on their phones. People selling strawberries.

She bought a pint. She loved strawberries. She loved the boy's laugh, too. She wondered where it went. 

He was crying by the lake, lying, holding the creature, the beast. It lied to the boy, too. It promised they could run away together, somewhere with cows and hills and water. Somewhere free.

The boy looked an awful lot like Merlin.

She shook her head, again, again, again. She shook it until a stranger asked her if she was alright. A stranger with a bucket of water balancing on her hip, with a plain and simple dress, with old eyes. She shook her head again, just to clear it. The men with swords were starting to look, to raise their weapons, to run.

The woman nearly dropped her bucket when Freya started to run, too. 

The creature was far faster than Freya was. The creature had wings, massive and black, and paws that leapt and bounded with the same grace and agility as a dancer. There was blood pouring from its leg, though. A gift from the king's son. A wound, bleeding out, slowly but surely, at the lakeside.

A birthmark on Freya's calf.

Her feet bled and ached as they did back then. She had done this before. She held the boy's hand as they ran from a cage, from an evil man, from Halig. Into the bones of a castle, laughing at dancing flames. She had asked for a strawberry and the boy brought her a flower, and for a moment, she had been in love.

A creature in love with a boy. Who would have thought it would be that easy?

She laughed as she ran, giddily and finally, finally, _finally_ freely. She felt like the creature again, gliding and dancing over waves. There were wings on her back and claws on her fingers; there was fur on her skin and a tail between her legs. She laughed again and ran faster, faster, faster.

There was once a girl by a lake, a creature dying, but she was _here_. She was running, a girl nearly drowned what felt like a lifetime before, a girl drinking tea, a girl loving a boy holding her so sweetly.

She was dying and alive, all at once, a hideous creature and a girl, all at once, old eyes in old eyes in old eyes.

Somewhere, there was a lake in the middle of a forest, surrounded by flowers and trees as tall as giants. There were mountains with peaks brushing the stars and a creature and a boy who loved her, loved her, loved her, and there was Freya.

Freya, Freya, Freya.

She ran like a creature, like a girl, like Freya. She ran toward a lake, a place she could feel in her bones, a place that would always be her, always be a part of her.

A place like home.

She could remember a cage, Halig, the ale on his breath. But she could also remember Will and the Dragon and his smile and his coffee. She knew a man she'd been forced to kill, and his mother, with the hands of a crone and a curse on her tongue. But she also knew Merlin's laugh, and Arthur's awkward attempts at friendship, and an old ugly coat and fluorescent lights like searchlights.

She was of two worlds, the last and the current, spiraling and combining, merging to create something new, a place with Freya. A place with Freya and Will and Merlin and Arthur and a woman selling strawberries and a pretty barista and a golden sword and the color of the sky. A place where everything became and everything was, a place where they all remembered.

Because, god, she _remembered_.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been running when she finally reached it, the lake, surrounded by peace and some sort of sense of love. It was different, everything always was, yet exactly the same.

She laughed and laughed and laughed. Maybe she was dead. Maybe she had died a long time ago. Maybe she was there. Maybe it'd been days since she'd seen the pool, or weeks, or years. Maybe she was human. Maybe she wasn't.

Maybe she was this:

A lake, with a boy she loved, and a curse she would no longer let define her. A flower summoned instead of a strawberry, and a pint of them she purchased at a market. A family dead but a new one forged, one she'd carved into herself. Will and Merlin and a boy and a creature, coming together to mean the same, to mean family.

Maybe she was this: maybe she was Freya.

She shed her coat and stood at the water's edge, laughing, laughing, laughing.

She would go home soon, her other home, always different and exactly the same. She'd go to Will's dirty apartment, to his food-stained counter and her empty shampoo bottles lining his shelves, and she'd tell them everything. She'd make them remember. She'd make them laugh, just like this. The worlds were merging, and this was her, this was here, this was now.

She wouldn't drown, not anymore, not ever. She could only laugh.

She jumped.

**Author's Note:**

> okay, this is,,, weird. it's been sitting in my notes app for two months, completely finished. i'm not sure how I feel about it. I wanted to post it, though, so I guess now is as good a time as any. I'm gonna try to make this into a series, each work being about one of the characters remembering. I'm probably going to do Gwaine next.
> 
> MY TUMBLRS:  
> rusty-pulley-stars  
> anti-uther-rights
> 
> please give me feedback!


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